Hickey
by murderofonerose
Summary: The title should tell you plenty. Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead. Slash.


**Warning:** Contains slash  
**Pairing:** Guil/Ros  
**Words:** 877  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

A friend remarked to me once that if Guildenstern ever tried to give Rosencrantz a hickey, Ros would just be all "But why would you do that to me? That _hurts_!" So this happened.

This is unbeta'd and I'm not sure I'm happy with it, so critiques would definitely be welcome.

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Hickey

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Guildenstern yelped in surprise (and some amount of pain, but mostly surprise) as he suddenly found himself being pushed frantically off and making his rather loud acquaintance with the floor. The guest rooms at Elsinore didn't seem to take kindly to being fallen in.

He blinked up at Rosencrantz, who was peering down over the edge of the bed at him.

"What… What the hell was that for?" Guildenstern asked dazedly, winded from the fall and distracted by the way Rosencrantz's sweat-dampened hair was falling into those wide eyes, the way his lips looked so thoroughly kissed. They couldn't have been more than a foot or two apart but already every nerve in his body was crying out against the lack of contact, and Guildenstern's mind refused to wrap around the possibility that his friend had pushed him away out of serious protest.

"What did you do that for?" Rosencrantz wailed – but quietly, almost in a whisper.

_What did I— Oh. _Guildenstern promptly decided he wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. It wasn't _fair_, Rosencrantz had let him into his bed not ten minutes ago without coercion, he shouldn't have been allowed to change his mind without warning and cause all this… this… There wasn't even a word for it. Guildenstern's stomach was twisting and churning with mortification and desire and dismay. It wasn't _fair_.

But Rosencrantz was pointing to himself now, to a faint but definitely visible bruise-like mark at the base of his throat. "That _hurt_," he added unhappily.

Oh. _Oh._ It clicked in Guildenstern's mind just what he'd done, and he could feel his face flush an even darker red. A moment ago he hadn't even thought about doing it, really – he'd been too caught up in the taste of his companion's skin that the kisses along his collarbone turned openmouthed, and he hadn't _meant_ to do it but…

Well. It was done now, and if Rosencrantz's violent reaction was any indication he would probably want him to go. Guildenstern could have kicked himself, but hell, who was he kidding? In spite of all his attempts to be level-headed and rational and make good decisions he rarely succeeded, especially when Rosencrantz was involved. Why would this night be any different?

"Sorry," he offered weakly, closing his eyes in resignation. The cold stone floor was leeching away his body heat and he found that he didn't particularly care.

Any second now he would be asked to leave…

"Are you all right?" Rosencrantz asked. "Guildenstern?"

Suddenly it felt like he was right there. Guildenstern opened his eyes and _he was_, kneeling on the floor next to him covered with a loosely draped bed sheet.

"Ah!"

Rosencrantz jumped, looking embarrassed. "Sorry! I thought— Well you fell, and I hadn't meant to push you _that_ much, and then you went all red and quiet and your eyes closed and I thought that maybe if you'd hit your head you might have lost _consciousness_, and in that case I should at least check on you and probably get you to a doctor—"

"Rosencrantz," Guildenstern blurted out, grabbing the other man by the shoulders as doing so might steady his mouth. It was pure habit, but it seemed to work; Rosencrantz stopped babbling and began chewing on his lower lip instead, at which Guildenstern couldn't help but stare a little. "I… I don't have a concussion."

"Are you sure?" he asked anxiously. He leaned down a bit and combed his fingers gently through Guildenstern's hair, trying to feel for any bumps. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he added, but neglected to hold up any.

Guildenstern sighed, but his stomach was starting to settle and there was a hint of a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, I'm sure." He sat up slowly but without much trouble – his side was a bit sore where he'd fallen, but that was to be expected. He could live with that. One of his hands stayed on Rosencrantz's shoulder, then slid hesitantly to the sore spot that he was responsible for.

Rosencrantz's fingers tensed slightly against his scalp. Suddenly he was leaning closer and hugging Guildenstern tightly, mumbling against his neck, "Don't be mad, but… I really don't like that. I'm sorry."

For a moment, Guildenstern managed to hold his tongue. His first instinct was to say something like 'Yes, I gathered that,' or 'Do you have _any idea_ what you let me think, for a minute,' or 'It's not like I don't have worse now' – but, in a rare flash of self-awareness, he recognized that voicing any of those thoughts would be a bad idea. And maybe if he said them Rosencrantz would be a little too humbled to throw him out, but the words would linger…

As his arms wrapped tightly around Rosencrantz, completing the embrace, Guildenstern knew that he didn't want any more hanging over them than there already was – fate, or something worse, he didn't know, but the atmosphere at Elsinore was just as cold as its stone floors and that did not bode well.

So Guildenstern just replied with a promise that he wouldn't do it again, and, shivering, went on almost immediately to ask if they could return to the bed.


End file.
